


The Night After Christmas

by apocryphile



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphile/pseuds/apocryphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of festive fun, set after a nonspecific drama-free Christmas in the early-ish years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night After Christmas

The set of Leo’s jaw was rather less poised than was customary as he took his seat for the late staff briefing he’d scheduled for 5pm on the day after Christmas (because if his staff were going to make up excuses to come back to work during the holidays, he’d rather know where they were and what they were doing). The reason for that became apparent and he got back to his feet as the President strode in behind him, bellowing tunelessly.

“…MATRIS IN GREMIOOOOO! ALPHA ES ET-- Why the long faces, everyone? Are you perhaps feeling a little worse for wear after yesterday’s festivities?”

With a wicked grin, he took a deep breath and started again at an even more earsplitting volume. 

“IN DULCI JUBILOOOOO…”

Josh groaned and hid his head in his hands. Sam held on manfully, beaming at the President rather fixedly while discreetly gripping the edge of the table, and Toby tried to sneak out of the room. CJ hauled him back by the lapels. 

Leo slammed a folder onto the table and the President trailed off with a sigh.

“No appreciation for the classics,” he muttered. Donna, who had been bobbing her head to the tune, shot him a commiserating smile, and he winked at her. 

“Suckup,” Josh whispered, and she swatted him with a folder. The President tutted and she blushed, but before she could apologise he slid the book he’d been carrying across the table to her.

“Use that.”

Leo made a sound that was most closely akin to a roar. 

“Mr President, can we please…”

“Oh c’mon, Leo, it’s Christmas! If I can’t have a little fun with my, if I’m not much mistaken, still somewhat intoxicated staff, then when can I?”

“I don’t think what we’re suffering from around here is a lack of fun, Sir. And Christmas was yesterday.”

“Yesterday was the first day of Christmas, Ebenezer. Ten more to go!”

Toby sagged against CJ. She patted him consolingly on the head. 

“I can always make more Yule Mule!”

He groaned. 

“Have mercy.”

The President peered enquiringly at them.

“Are you responsible for this, Claudia Jean?”

She squirmed.

“It was the weather,” she muttered.

A snowstorm had disrupted everyone’s last-minute travel plans. Josh, who had only recently noticed that former Hollywood publicist CJ’s apartment was bigger than his, Sam’s and Toby’s combined, had unilaterally decreed they would all celebrate Christmas there together, completely ignoring Toby’s protests that technically, not all of them actually celebrated Christmas. It had been very, very late before it occurred to anyone they had no food to speak of. After rather a lot of yelling about the uselessness of their political influence if it couldn’t procure them a traditional holiday meal with all the trimmings at 3am on Christmas morning, Josh’s unique brand of sideways drunken logic had led them to the conclusion that if ginger ale was good for upset stomachs, it should help with hunger pangs. 

It wasn’t until Donna resorted - as she did several dozen times a day - to an internet search to try to get Josh to shut up, that they discovered they hadn’t in fact invented a brand new kind of cocktail. The mixology website had been the beginning of the end. CJ had stayed just coherent enough to stop Sam blundering his way into the White House mid-afternoon to try and single-handedly lift the Cuban embargo “because it is THE rum, CJ.”

She smiled weakly.

“We’re all eager to get back to work, Sir.”

“Glad to hear it. Leo?”

Leo glanced down at a note Margaret had just passed him and sighed deeply. 

“Lord John Marbury is coming, Sir.”

“Joy to the world,” CJ mumbled. Donna tried and failed to hide a happy smile. Josh grimaced.

“Ah! We’ll need to lay on some Lagavulin, won’t we, Toby?”

Toby swallowed.

“Sir.”

The President slung his arm around his Communications Director’s shoulders. 

“He’s just the man to help us celebrate the New Year, Toby! Hogmanay! Haggis!”

Toby paled.

“I’m quite sure he’s not Scottish, Sir.”

The President paused.

“I doubt he would let that slow him down, somehow, don’t you?”

“No, Sir.”

The President looked around the room at his dishevelled staff and their exasperated boss. 

“Two things, my friends. First of all, this meeting has turned out to be as pointless as I knew it was when Leo made me agree to it just so he could check up on you, but it has served that purpose at least.” His voice softened. “And secondly, if you ever find yourself unable to join your own families for the holidays again, I want you to remember that this is your home, too. In fact, we have an obscene amount of leftovers upstairs, and I know the First Lady would like nothing more than some extra children to fuss over and feed.” He shot them a stern look over the rim of his glasses. “Don’t make me demand your enthusiasm; the chefs did all the cooking this year.” 

Everyone brightened considerably and he started to lead them out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he turned back with an impish grin.

“I made the eggnog myself, however.”

There was a chorus of groans.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss this fandom and all who sail in her SO much! I hope you've all had a wonderful Christmas, darlings.


End file.
